


Lewis meets Thursday

by merc_cook



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms, Inspector Morse (TV), Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merc_cook/pseuds/merc_cook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An imagined scenario in which Morse's protégé encounters his mentor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lewis meets Thursday

The door to the pub swung open and the two officers entered. One of them - the elder of the two - headed purposely towards the bar and then turned to look at his colleague.  
“Come on, Lewis.” He said, somewhat exasperatedly, “It’s your round.”  
“But it was my round last time, sir.” Lewis replied.  
“Yes.” Morse answered, “And it’s your round again – governor’s orders.” Lewis looked disapprovingly across at his superior – not that Morse would ever pay any attention to his expression – and reached for his wallet.  
“Good afternoon, gents.” The barman greeted them, “What can I get you?”  
“Pint for me.” Morse said, “And…?” he turned to Lewis,  
“Orange juice, please.” Lewis replied. The barman served them their drinks. They turned and headed over to one of the smaller tables in the middle of the room. Morse briefly surveyed his surroundings as he was wont to do and found his eye caught by an elderly figure at the bar. He had short grey, almost white, hair that was slicked back away from his forehead and aged, wrinkled skin – more so than his own. His chin was firm and proud over his copious jowls and a beer belly protruded from his battered old trenchcoat. He didn’t seem any different to the dozens of other men who might frequent the pub but to Morse he seemed oddly familiar.  
“My round is it, sir?” Lewis asked.  
“Well done, Lewis.” Morse said, handing his empty pint glass to Lewis without taking his eyes of the stranger. Lewis got up and headed over to the bar where he stood beside the strange man, waiting to be served. The man turned slowly to face the bar. There was a pause.  
“That your governor?” the man asked in a creaky yet confident voice. Lewis was surprised that the man was talking to him but overcame it,  
“Yes.” He replied.  
“What’s he like?” Lewis shrugged.  
“He’s alright.”  
“Treat you well, does he?” the man asked, taking a sip of his beer.  
“Well, he’s better than some of the superiors I’ve had.” The man nodded, solemnly, placing his glass back on the bar. There was a pause while Lewis ordered the drinks.  
“Still doing his crosswords, is he?”  
“Yes.” Lewis said, looking perplexed, “Do you know him?”   
“Oh yes.” The stranger replied, “Yes, I know him very well.”  
Lewis pondered this as he made his way back over to Morse.  
“Nice chat?” Morse asked, brusquely.  
“Suppose so.” Lewis replied, putting the glasses down on the table and resuming his seat. “Just been talking to an old friend of yours.”  
“A friend of mine?” Morse replied, puzzled. Lewis gestured to the man at the bar.  
“Him.” He said, “Says he knows you.” Morse looked across at the man. His bewilderment growing.  
Suddenly he spotted a trilby hat placed on the bar in front of him. His eyes widened.  
“It can’t be.” He said.  
“What’s that, sir?” Lewis asked. The stranger smiled at Morse and raised his glass. Morse smiled back and returned the gesture.  
“Well, well.” He said, “Fred Thursday. I never expected to see him again.”  
“See who, sir?”  
“Thursday.” Morse repeated, “DI Fred Thursday. My governor at Carshalton. He’s the man who taught me everything I know.”  
“Oh, I see.” Lewis said, turning briefly to look back at the man. “He’s got a lot to answer for then, hasn’t he?” Morse ignored him and stayed transfixed at the sight of his old friend and mentor. The man put his glass down and reached for a packet wrapped neatly in brown paper which he raised to salute Morse with. Morse looked away for a moment and chuckled.  
“Sir?” Lewis asked. Morse paused.  
“Go over to him and tell him ‘Cheese and pickle’.”  
“Sir?” Lewis said, again. “Why would I…?”  
“Just do it, Lewis.” Morse said, in his exasperated tone. Lewis sighed, got up and made his way back over to the stranger.  
“Message from the old man.” He said, “He said to tell you ‘Cheese and pickle’.” The man’s face creased into a smile.  
“Mind like a steel trap.” He replied. “Nothing gets out.” He started unwrapping the parcel and Lewis, fixated by the whole situation, watched. The man uncovered two sandwiches from amongst the folds of paper and lifted the flap of one to look inside. He nodded. He looked up at Lewis with delighted eyes. “Tell him from me to get his own.” He said, tucking in to his repast. Lewis headed back over to an expectant Morse.  
“He says get your own.” Morse smiled.   
“So what’s the story, sir?” Lewis said, settling himself on his bar stool again.  
“Story, Lewis?” Morse asked.  
“You and that old boy over there.” Morse looked disapproving.  
“That ‘old boy’, Lewis,” he said, “Is former Detective Inspector Frederick Thursday - one of the finest men ever to serve in the Oxford police force.”  
“That good was he, sir?” Lewis asked, taking a sip of his juice.  
“None finer.” Morse said, looking across fondly at the old man.  
“Then how come I haven’t heard of him?” Morse looked over at his companion, seemingly irritated by his perceived ignorance.  
“Because, Lewis, he wasn’t one of those who liked to blow his own trumpet.” He explained. “He also wasn’t one of those to always listen to what his superiors told him. If DI Thursday knew what needed to be done he’d do it and deal with the consequences afterwards.”  
“You’ve a lot in common then, sir.”  
“I shall take that as a compliment, Lewis.” Morse replied.  
He looked over to the bar again to see Thursday draining the last of his pint and bundling up his sandwich paper before picking up his hat from the bar. He placed it on his head in the familiar casual manner and, with a nod to Morse, headed slowly out of the bar. Morse watched him go, a wistful expression on his face then looked down at his pint. He picked it up and raised it towards the door.  
“Here’s to you, Fred Thursday.” He said, “Here’s to you, old friend.”


End file.
